But dumb the goddesses underground Wait, and we hear not on earth if their feet Rise, and the night wax loud with their wings; Dumb, without word or shadow of sound; And sift in scales and winnow as wheat Men's souls, and sorrow of manifold things. III Nor less of grief than ours The gods wrought long ago To bruise men one by one; But with the incessant hours Fresh grief and greener woe Spring, as the sudden sun Year after year makes flowers; And these die down and grow, And the next year lacks none. As these men sleep, have slept The old heroes in time fled, No dream-divided sleep; And holier eyes have wept Than ours, when on her dead Gods have seen Thetis weep, With heavenly hair far-swept Back, heavenly hands outspread Round what she could not keep, Could not one day withhold, One night; and like as these White ashes of no weight, Held not his urn the cold Ashes of Heracles? For all things born one gate Opens, no gate of gold; Opens; and no man sees Beyond the gods and fate. ANIMA ANCEPS Till death have broken Sweet life's love-token, Till all be spoken That shall be said, What dost thou praying, O soul, and playing With song and saying, Things flown and fled? For this we know not-- That fresh springs flow not And fresh griefs grow not When men are dead; When strange years cover Lover and lover, And joys are over And tears are shed. If one day's sorrow Mar the day's morrow-- If man's life borrow And man's death pay-- If souls once taken, If lives once shaken, Arise, awaken, By night, by day-- Why with strong crying And years of sighing, Living and dying, Fast ye and pray? For all your weeping, Waking and sleeping, Death comes to reaping And takes away. Though time rend after Roof-tree from rafter, A little laughter Is much more worth Than thus to measure The hour, the treasure, The pain, the pleasure, The death, the birth; Grief, when days alter, Like joy shall falter; Song-book and psalter, Mourning and mirth. Live like the swallow; Seek not to follow Where earth is hollow Under the earth. IN THE ORCHARD (PROVENÇAL BURDEN) Leave go my hands, let me catch breath and see; Let the dew-fall drench either side of me; Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree; Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon. The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie. Kissed upon either cheek and either eye, I turn to thee as some green afternoon Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die; Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.